The Death of Their Hero
by ekatesc
Summary: Harry Potter is defeated by Quirrell his first year- oneshot


**TW: mentions of child abuse and suicide**

* * *

"I am innocent. I will see him soon. I am-" Sirius fell to the floor mid-chant as he opened the newspaper that was just delivered to his cell. In bold letters, the headline read: **Harry Potter is dead!** Sirius swallowed painfully. Killed by a corrupt teacher in just his first year of Hogwarts. How could that happen? Why wasn't Sirius there to protect Harry? He was supposed to protect Harry. Knowing he would see Harry again was the only thing that had kept Sirius alive. He began to sob, rocking back and forth. The dementors swooped in, and for the first time since setting foot in Azkaban, Sirius Black screamed.

Remus was done mourning the loss of a relationship he never got to have. He marched up to 4 Privet Drive and entered, the house having been long abandoned by Harry's relatives. He searched every room and couldn't find a sign that Harry had lived there. Until he entered the cupboard under the stairs. He crouched down and sat on the thin mattress that took up almost the entire cupboard. Dust fell from the ceiling and spiders scattered as he looked around. In a small corner, there was a little stick figure drawing of a girl and boy. Above them were the words mum and dad, written in a messy child's scrawl. Remus choked back a sob as he began to read the other things scratched into the walls.

_I had a dream. "Take Harry and run!" What does it mean?  
_

_I'm special.  
_

_My parents loved me. I know it._

_I'm tired of this cupboard._

_Why does Dudley keep hurting me?_

_The hunger. It hurts._

_Uncle Vernon says my parents were worthless drunks._

_Why does Uncle Vernon hurt me and not Dudley?_

_They call me a freak. I don't know what I am._

_I told Uncle Vernon about my dream. He said magic isn't real. He punched hard. Magic isn't real. He kept going until it drilled the message in. Magic isn't real._

_I'm not special. I'm a freak._

_The hunger is crawling through my body._

_I'm worthless._

_My parents were worthless drunks. I shouldn't have been born._

_My bruises hurt. I don't want bruises anymore._

_Magic isn't real._

_I don't deserve to live._

_Why was I born at all?_

_I haven't eaten in weeks._

_I think he broke my ribs._

_Magic isn't real._

_Just let me die._

_Please._

_I want to die._

Remus swallowed with difficulty. The words "I want to die" were carved over and over. Remus would find Harry's relatives. They were going to pay for what they did to his Harry. The wolf inside Remus snarled, and for the first time ever, Remus let it take control.

Albus Dumbledore sighed as he retrieved Hermione and Ron from the corridor and delivered them to the Hospital Wing. His plan had failed. So much for the Chosen One. That should've worked. Oh, well. The prophecy must've been wrong. At least now he knew that wasn't going to work. The next few days would be tiresome. Inquiries from the Ministry, offering sappy condolences to people who never even knew Harry, dealing with crying children. This was not how it should've gone. Harry was supposed to destroy the Dark Lord before dying, so Dumbledore could swoop in and save the day. Time to move to a backup plan. Perhaps Neville Longbottom was a more viable option than he'd thought. Dumbledore felt no guilt. He had learned long ago from a good friend that people were just pawns in a chess game. Sometimes pawns had to be sacrificed. For the greater good.

Hermione awoke in the Hospital Wing, alone. She glanced at the newspaper on her nightstand and opened it. A thousand emotions threatened to overwhelm her. When she was a child, her parents taught her to bury her emotions. They didn't want to deal with it. So that's what she did now. She pushed the feelings far down and locked them away, hidden deep within her gut. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away. She already knew. Life wasn't fair. Life would destroy you, tear you apart, then leave the broken pieces for you to fix. Life was unsurvivable. But she was going to survive. She was going to destroy anyone who'd ever hurt her or Harry.

Ron sat on a bed in Gryffindor Tower, sobbing soundlessly. His best friend was gone. If only Ron had stopped him from going ahead. Why did Dumbledore keep that thing in a school? Ron glared at the empty room. Harry should've lived. He was the hero. He was supposed to defeat the Dark Lord. But he wasn't supposed to do it alone. Why did they let him do it alone? That day, Ron Weasley lost faith in the light side. They couldn't save the hero. They wouldn't give a damn about the sidekick. No one ever did. He wouldn't stand a chance.

No one was surprised when, two days later, an hour after Harry's funeral, Ron Weasley's body was found in a pool of his own blood. He had lost his best friend. He couldn't handle it, so he didn't. An owl was sent out to his family, offering comfort and apologies. His mother had a heart attack upon finding out. Her baby was gone. The Weasley family slowly fell apart to rivalries and arguments. They gradually stopped acknowledging each other until one day, none of them spoke to each other at all. Even the twins, who were thought to be inseparable, couldn't look at one another without glaring. In the upcoming war, only three Weasleys ended up surviving. And none of them knew or cared which of them lived or died. Death had shattered them to their very cores. And they couldn't ever piece themselves together.

Hermione trained for hours every day and, once she became old enough, began hunting down Death Eaters and Horcruxes one by one. Legends spread about a warrior who could kill with a flick of her wand, who defeated anyone in her path without breaking a sweat. People tried to recruit her. The Ministry, the Order. She always said no. She worked alone. She couldn't betray Ron and Harry. She was the only one of them left.

The broken bodies of the Dursley family were found torn apart in their home. The local Muggles posted in their paper that it appeared to be some sort of animal attack. Remus Lupin smiled, blood covering his mouth and clothes, and walked off a cliff. He was ready to see Harry again.

Azkaban only did check-ins once every 5 years. The guard who happened upon Sirius Black's corpse rotting in the cell crinkled his nose. Another criminal was gone from the world, he supposed. Sirius Black would go down in history as a lieutenant to the Dark Lord who had betrayed his best friends. Sirius never got to meet his godson. He never got to prove his innocence. He died unwanted, in a cold, dark cell. He died alone.

Hermione singlehandedly took down the Dark Lord. He had destroyed her life, her honorary family. So he had to die. Once the deed was done, Hermione left. She disappeared, presumably back in the muggle world. Legends faded, and many couldn't help but wonder if Hermione was back with Harry and Ron. Her mission was accomplished. She wanted to see her friends again.

The Wizarding World was never the same after the day Harry Potter died. It set events in motion, and, in some ways, led to the Dark Lord's death. Too bad Harry never got to see it. After the war, almost everyone who was still alive moved away. Britain held too many memories. Wizarding Britain fell. The few wizards who were left finally fled, unable to continue living there. No more Dark Lords ever rose in Britain. There was nothing to take over. Nothing to salvage. History slowly forgot about the Golden Trio's fall from grace. Wizarding Britain was destroyed. And all it took was the death of a hero.


End file.
